Hrfan’s Roundabout

By Oscar B

It was a brisk morning; the grass was coated in a dewy emulsion of fresh spring humidity and illuminated by the sun's polite stirring. Pollen fell from lush, towering dogwoods, which stood alongside ashy white oaks. Each sought an elusive state of growth provided by none other than "Mother Sun." Every person who has trod this pathway carries a unique tale written by the tracks of their peppy, forward steps. Some journeys through the dogwood end in dismay, while others end in bliss and growth. Regardless of the outcome, a fervent sense of accomplishment blesses whoever travels this path—whether they fall victim to dismay or find themselves subject to much more than peace. 

 A step traveled no further than a foot, Traveled by Hrafn. Hrafn deeply views and observes the entrance to this forest, a tunnel of trees, leaving light in fragments throughout the forest floor, in no particular pattern did this ornament cover the basis at which the traveled travel. “Patterns are birthed by a predictable multiplication... formulating what once, was misunderstood...” thought Hrafn in a more condescending sense, to the tastelessly palpable frequent, of predictability in today's world. Hrafn journeyed on within the forest Biome.  

With each step he took, the ambience of woodsy galore seemed to be undisturbed by the emptiness he beheld. A fraction of who he was; he saw within every observation in this forest. Struggling to see the why of his character, Hrafn Saw, all of whom he was within the smallest metaphors and symbols. From the rustling of the trees to every distinct crunch and crackle of his footsteps. Hrafn had reached a state of sorts; he was walking almost, automatically. While his mind was occupied with, well, nothing. Hrafn had realized. The beauty of predictability was something that could be found. Within the constraints of something beautiful. Hence, why he had walked around 3 miles in what he figured to be a matter of 5 minutes or so.